Speak Easy, Boys, and They'll Come Shouting
by Another Icarus
Summary: Richard Grayson owns and runs the most prodigious speakeasy in Gotham. With prestige, though, comes the risk of getting caught. 1920s AU


A woman screamed when the cops arrived - seemed like that's how all the raids started. A woman in a flapper dress and cap dropped her cup - glass and filled with the best money could buy, and Dick rolled the numbers in his head of how much one flighty woman just cost him.

Not that it mattered much - from the devastation he's seen in other speakeasies after a cop raid, well, he'd be lucky if he got away without jail time, let alone with any of the money he'd raked in this past- good golly, had it already been near a year that he'd been running this joint?

Well, he had most of the cash in a safe spot, so that was one less worry. And if this was a certain group of cops - ah, yes. He saw a familiar set of broad shoulders in the characteristic cop-navy, leading the pack, and grinned. No, this would be probably the easiest crash a club ever done did see. He plucked up his pack of cigarettes, slipping them into his vest pocket, before slipping to one of the walls - so far, unnoticed in all the crazed panic surrounding him.

Blindly - because really, he'd draw attention to himself like a hawk if he actively searched - he fumbled for and found the switch he was looking for, and suddenly was in the back room, accessible only through that hidden door. He hit the panic button, disabling it, and took a breath.

It was a small room - walls lined with bottles of alcohol from every place he had ties to. Hell, his business was the envy of most runners of the speakeasies, but that's why only the best of the best of Gotham knew the password to get in. Hell, his little set-up with the buttons had come at quite a price, but right now, he was glad he'd put the money in.

Aside from the shelves, there was his desk, neatly organized with papers and bills. He made his way over, and slipped his earnings for the night into the top drawer, before locking it. And then he turned his attention to leaving.

That was where his set-up turned brilliant. A button, much like the one in the club, at the bottom of his desk's top. Running his fingers over it revealed a revolving doorway into an outdoor stairwell. He had less than a minute to slip out, before the brick smoothed out once more, and noone had any way of knowing that he had been there. A door on the building across the small stairwell provided an obvious reason for the stairwell, and all was well.

A clean getaway. Perfect, just as planned.

Was it positively terrible of him to have almost hoped to get caught? He chuckled, straightening the cuffs on his shirt. Probably, but really, could he be blamed? Even the smartest mouse sometimes contemplated the mouse trap if the cheese was the right type, the right size.

The metaphor turned only slightly ridiculous, of course, when revealed to be speaking about-

"Grayson, stop right there." The rough voice cut into the night air - Gotham was getting chilly, and Dick mourned, briefly, the loss of his evening coat, left on some woman's shoulders before the raid.

He stopped and turned and leaned confidently against the rough bright face of the alley he had started his way down, having taken the steps two at a time to get out of the stairwell. He smiled easily. "Well, if it isn't Officer Wayne. How_are_ you doing tonight, sir?"

"Hahha, I'm so clever, noone could possibly link me to that club. Right? Is that why you're so cheerful, Grayson?" Bruce Wayne - one of the city's best cops, and man alive is he _handsome_ too, approaches him, hedging around him until Dick is pretty much trapped.

Well, like he'd been thinking, mouse, mousetrap, really good cheese. All a matter of perspective, right? He chuckled softly and reached out, twining the good officer's tie around two of his fingers, looking at the neat, streamlined row of brass buttons and decideding that they would look much better on the ground.

Perferrably in his apartment's bedroom.

"Actually, that's it exactly, Bruce." He smiled, flashing his eyes back up to the good officer's face - and the smile widened at how Wayne's frown and glare softened. Not by a large amount, of course - anyone capable of getting him to soften up completely while on the job probably more than deserved to whisk him away, but wars were won on small battles.

"Dick."

"Well, the way I see it, it's right good fortune that it's you of all men who's come to shut me down, right?"

"Do you know how much trouble I'd get into, saving your ass?"

"You like my ass too much to let it burn, Bruce, face it." Dick laughed softly, tugging the tie taut, though he fully recognized that any space Bruce closed because of it was on his own volition - everything about him was a lot easy to deal with if Dick just accepted that he wasn't in control. Never was, never would be.

He was fine with that. He simply leaned up, closing the distance, and ghosted his lips against Bruce's ungiving ones. "Besides, you've done a lot of other things you could get in trouble for, and that's never stopped you." He was inviting -_daring_ him.

He was pleased when that was met with his body pressed against the brick wall, flat against his back, one solid, warm hand in the center of his chest holding him. "One of these days, Dick, you're going to bite off more than you can chew, and even I won't be able to help you," Bruce warned, rather than kissing him, and Dick's lips took on an impatient, pouting twist.

"There's nothing in this god-given earth you couldn't protect me from, Mr. Wayne, I'm _fairly_ certain. Now, are you going to kiss me, or cuff me? I can't say I'm really adverse to either." He gave an experimental twist to Wayne's tie, and then tugged gently. "Though, I suppose the cuffs should come later, hm?"

"You really are an absolute flirt, aren't you?" Bruce chuckled, and Dick decided to count that as a victory in his favour - the cop really did have a nice laugh. It was such a damn shame he didn't do it more.

But then, Dick was selfish, and didn't like the idea of Bruce laughing when not around him. "I am, but you knew that before you got involved, too. I gave you plenty of fair warning." He smiled, and leaned his head forward, vying for a kiss at this point.

Bruce ignored such a hint. "Where did you coat go off to? Surely you didn't run off to open the club in a vest and suspenders?"

"Last I saw, it was on Ms. Kory's shoulders. Or was it Ms. Troy? I can't seem to recall."

A low, barely there growl sounded, and Dick nearly missed it as the sirens from the cop cars began, signaling that they were ready to head back to the precinct - likely with a depressing amount of his patrons in tow. He didn't, however, miss the way Bruce's lips crashed against his, kissing him almost possesively.

"I have to go. Stop being such a damned tease to everything on two legs, and I might see you tonight." He said as he backed away, leaving Dick breathless and free - and far too cold. Dick decided he most certainly did _not_ like that.

"I promise, Officer Wayne. I'll be _very_ good so you won't be disappointed when you check up on me." He still managed a playful smile and a wink, reaching out and straightening Bruce's collar and tie.

The officer stood there a moment, lingering as if he wanted to say, or do something. Then he just shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair, and headed down the alley towards the sirens.

And well, if Dick leaned against the wall and watched him go, well, that was only fair.

* * *

><p><strong>Important<strong>: _I've written the sequel to this - I put it as a separate fic, since it's pretty much just the porny epilogue and I didn't want to bump up this story's rating. Anyway, the sequel is Waiting, and is also posted here._

Written for a friend's request of putting the men in the 1920's. She wanted fancy clothes and cars and basically the highlife - but I decided I wanted something where Dick could antagonize Bruce a bit. I did a bit of hand-wavy mechanics with the secret doors, but from what my research said, those really existed back then, and the owners of speakeasies paid top dollar to install them. I just don't know if my exact layout was within the realm of imagination for that day and age.

Anyway! Hope you all enjoy and please, _please_, I'm so ridiculously happy with how this fic turned out, so if you would be so kind as to review it, that would absolutely make my day!


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